


Playing Yenta

by vlbuehle



Category: Star Trek (Reboot)
Genre: Anal Sex, F/F, F/M, First Time, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-03
Updated: 2011-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:58:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlbuehle/pseuds/vlbuehle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regs don’t permit fraternizations, so to counteract his boredom, Jim plays matchmaker for everyone else. Bones notices, likes this mature and thoughtful Jim and convinces him to break the rule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Yenta

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Slytherin_mafia

At first Jim is pretty much too incoherent with joy and too utterly bewildered to question much of anything. The Admiralty didn’t toss him in the brig as he’d half-expected (although he’d still swear Spock marooning him on Delta Vega was a violation of half a dozen regs, especially the ones governing cruel and inhumane treatment of prisoners) and he’s actually so giddy about that it takes a minute for the rest of the lecture to sink in. They’re giving him _Enterprise_? Seriously?

The high carries him through his remaining classes (moot point now, really, but the brass is bitchy about ignoring traditions and rules, and saving the world apparently doesn’t count as a good enough reason to be graduated on the spot). It gets him through the ridiculously pompous ceremony where Pike hands his baby over to Jim, and he’ll never admit how his throat closes when he looks into steady eyes and hears everything Pike isn’t saying, things like _I’m relieved_ and _I’m proud_ and maybe even _son._  Maybe.

After the ceremony the high is a little swamped by the part where he’s suddenly responsible for getting together a crew to fit the flagship of the Fleet without stepping on too many toes. Pike’s a godsend and he spends hours in the Admiral’s quarters learning the unspoken rules of command that he’d ordinarily pick up in his years serving under his own Captain. So when Pike mentions, days before _Enterprise_ is scheduled to leave on her first five year mission, that the Admiralty frowns heavily on breaking Regulation 690.12(b), Jim just nods. Pike, apparently not entirely convinced, makes it clearer—no fraternization with lower officers. Which means the entire crew.

Jim doesn’t worry about it. Okay, so he can’t sleep around. He’s got his ship, he’s got his crew, and that’s more than enough. 

(The fact that every hot young male and female in San Fran seems more than eager to bed the man who saved Earth might, just might, have something to do with this laid-back attitude. He’ll deny that, though.)

By the time his crew is finally complete, and it was worth every second of misery the brass heaped on him trying to force him to pick his First Officer to see the look on Nyota’s face when Spock nominates himself and Jim snatches him up, he’s dead on his feet. It’s been eighteen and twenty hour days for the better part of a month, working his ass off to get his crew settled, argue with other captains who are pissed as hell he’s stealing the cream of the crop out from under their noses, and get all the billion details the Captain has to personally oversee done. Any spare hours not used to get to know his crew are used for sleeping. It’s sad, but he has to admit that he’d rather sleep than fuck someone, and that alone is a sign of how much he’s changing.

(He tries hard not to think about that.)

Even once they’re off, well, he’s running a starship, directly responsible for about four hundred people, and heading various Extremely Important Missions that have a depressing tendency to explode in his face if he’s not on top of things. At first he fucks pretty much any alien who consents and doesn’t seem inclined to turn a night with Kirk into an excuse to kill his crew, sacrifice him in some hideous way, or terminate the new treaty with the Federation. 

But…he’s twenty-six, and he’s not the wild kid who hates himself more than anything, who can find peace in the warm body of the night’s conquest and pretend sex equals love, and love is meaningless. He’s seen too much for that. There’s too much riding on him now for him to fuck it up; his crew has to come first.

But damn, he’s bored and horny. He’s growing up, which is a minor miracle in and of itself, but he’s also twenty-six and he’d love to get laid. Becoming a mature, responsible adult absolutely sucks, even if Pike is surprisingly sympathetic to his whining when he calls the older man up because he’s got to complain to someone and he can’t bring himself to whine to his crew, not even Bones, not over this. Still, he’s got _Enterprise_ , and he can always go pester Bones when he really just needs to get a rise out of someone, get the worst of the itchiness out.

(He’s not thinking about why seeing Bones flushed and cursing him in that thick Southern drawl is even more effective than fucking the beautiful alien priestess. No, he’s absolutely not thinking about it at all.)

So. The alien of the week is out. His crew is strictly off limits, and not just because of regulations; he can only imagine the sheer clusterfuck of sleeping with a subordinate, God help him. Especially with his tendency to piss off as many lovers as not. Shore leave is his only outlet, and even that’s nothing more than physical relief now that leaves him tired and empty and feeling like the whore he’s been called so many times before.

His right hand and his imagination are his new best friends, and who better than the crew?    In case nobody notices, his crew is _hot_. They’re also his best source of fodder for his fantasies. He thinks of Uhura with those long legs displayed to perfection by the blessedly short skirt option she wears, the way her hair shimmers in its long ponytail, drawing attention to her slender neck, her full lips and those doe eyes. He thinks of Spock, of the power of the half-Vulcan, the heat of him when his hands closed on Jim’s throat, and what those hands would look like against Uhura’s milk chocolate skin. He thinks of Christine Chapel’s icy blonde beauty, and contrasts it with Yeoman Janice Rand’s earthier, but no less beautiful looks. He imagines Sulu, that fiery intensity aimed at Chekov, and Chekov’s shy passion in return. And yes, he knows that of his mental pairings only Spock and Uhura have actually acted on their attraction, but his childhood made him an expert in reading body language. He knows who wants who, even if they haven’t made any moves yet.

It keeps him going for awhile, but in the end he stops because imaging them together, seeing the looks and the fleeting touches they think they sneak by him and each other on the bridge, only adds to the painful loneliness. Loneliness is nothing new, not to him; Sam ran away when he was nine, and Mom had already made it clear by then that he looked too much like the husband she’d lost to ever claim a place in her heart. No, loneliness isn’t new, but it still hurts. He wouldn’t, he admits with traces of bitterness and a hefty jolt of resignation, know love if it bit him in the ass, because he’s never really felt it. Not the kind that’s madly passionately forever.

Not aimed at him.

Still, Jim sincerely likes and trusts the command crew, and he thinks maybe he’s even earning their respect in return. Uhura’s comments are no longer as biting, and Chekov’s hero worship is as sweet as it is terrifying. 

(The day Spock turns up at his quarters with a chess set under his arm and an arched brow to suggest a weekly match rather than the occasional one Jim’s challenged him to in the past, he knows they’ve accepted him, flaws and all.)

Over the next few months, he and Spock warm to each other, setting aside the Kobayashi Maru and using a father’s death against the son he died to save, charges of mutiny and being marooned on an ice world against emotional compromise used to strip away a captaincy. And as Spock Prime once promised both of them, they find they’re kindred spirits. Bones remains Jim’s first and best friend, but in Spock he finds another friend to lean on.

So when Spock arrives uncharacteristically flustered, at least to Jim’s newfound ability to read this particular half-Vulcan, he pays attention. When he sees Uhura giving Spock death glares and a cold shoulder during alpha shift the next day, he watches. When she thinks no one’s looking and her glare fades into raw misery, he decides to act. He suggests a game over dinner in his quarters to Spock, who jumps on the suggestion with atypical speed and naked gratitude, and plans out what to say without mortally offending Spock because if he turns up in Sickbay half-throttled again, Bones is likely to finish the job himself and then hunt down Spock for the hell of it.

He softens Spock up with pasta and marinara sauce, a dish his friend has confided was the favored treat of his childhood. He sweet talks the kitchen into two mini fruit flans with real whipped cream on the side for dessert, and has the pleasure of seeing the lingering tension drain from his friend.

When he judges the moment right, and Spock’s guard sufficiently down that he might actually survive prying into his friend’s love life without destroying their friendship, he strikes.

“So, what did you and Uhura fight about?”

For a second Spock freezes and Jim silently prays he doesn’t lose Spock over this, because it’s hard enough to be the Captain without losing one of his two lifelines. Then Spock sighs and slumps a little, and he lets out a breath of relief.

“Nyota does not feel I am attentive enough to her needs,” he confesses, and Jim blows out a breath and breaks out the whiskey. Even if Spock doesn’t imbibe, he needs to get drunk enough to discuss this. Because he gets that Spock’s repressed from his childhood growing up on Vulcan, and he gets that might never change, but there _are_ ways of showing a lover exactly how much you want her. Ways to convey your love, even if you can't yet bring yourself to say the words.

Which means he’s about to give a sex talk, complete with tips, to Spock, God help him.

By the end of it Spock’s gone green with embarrassment and Jim’s pretty damn sure he’ll be red every time he so much as glances at Spock and Nyota together. But he’s imparted every bit of wisdom he can think of, including a mini-lecture on the merits of offering a back rub or a foot massage after a long shift, and Spock has undoubtedly noted them all for future use, so he kicks his friend out and staggers off to bed. 

The next morning he walks onto the bridge with the mother of all hangovers, but he has to smile when he sees the faint curve of Spock’s lips, and the happy glow Nyota’s sporting. At least _somebody_ had a good night, then, and the lovebirds are back in full swing if the adoring looks and brief caresses are anything to go by. He does have a bad moment when he heads down to Sickbay for the afternoon visit to patients and Nyota ducks into the lift with him, but she only studies him for a moment before she smiles and kisses his cheek.

“Thank you, Jim,” she says softly, and then the door opens and she gives him a gentle push out onto Deck Seven as he gapes at her.

(When he wanders down to Sickbay with a bottle of smuggled bourbon after shift, Bones gives him a suspicious look and asks point-blank what’s up with him and why Nyota suddenly has nothing bad to say about him. Jim gives a brief, pained smile and says that maybe he’s growing up. Bones frowns a little, but lets it go at Jim’s openly pleading look, because he doesn’t want to talk about this, not even with Bones.)

It gives him a good feeling, though, and having Nyota and Spock happy again definitely gives the bridge crew a good boost in morale. And suddenly he sees Chekov’s shy glances at Sulu, and the brief brushes of Sulu’s hands against Chekov’s in a new light. Hell, if he could get Uhura and Spock back together without one or both trying to kill him, why not keep going? It’s something to do, it makes him happy, it makes them happier, and it’s good for the crew as a whole because happy crew are productive crew, and plus they’re way more lenient when he fucks something up.

James T. Kirk is a tactical genius, even if he does downplay his brains whenever possible, and once he sets his mind to something, it’s a foregone conclusion that he’s going to kick its ass. This is not an exception.

He starts slow and easy. Chekov has lost the worst of the hero worship, which Jim’s aided and abetted by making himself available for the kid to talk to. Chekov gives him a perfect opening by asking if Jim can teach him how to flirt because you see, there’s someone he likes but he’s not sure how to make the first move. Jim blinks—okay, so much for his brilliant plan, this will work *so* much better—and seizes the opportunity. He  offers to break Chekov in by flirting with him on the bridge so he can get used to it without freezing up. Chekov, predictably, stutters and stammers until he forces his agreement and thanks out. Jim’s made sure that this part of the conversation occurs as they step out of the turbolift, meaning both Uhura and Spock know what’s going on and won’t attempt to castrate him for corrupting the innocent of the bridge. Nyota even gives him another long, approving stare as he settles into his chair. Just to be on the safe side, he keeps his flirting low-key and easy, not something anyone but a jealous would-be lover could mistake as serious.

(And he watches in hidden glee as Sulu gets stiffer and stiffer with each gentle tease or soft, caressing tone.)

Jim isn’t as good at guiding human nature as Bones is, but he’s pretty damn good at manipulating people into doing what he wants, and this is basic human psychology 101. Jealousy at its finest is something Jim’s intimately aware of, and it’s not the first time he’s seen someone prodded into a relationship by the emotion. It’s just the first time he’ll be the prodder rather than the instrument used to incite the jealous rage.

It goes better than he’d ever dare hope. Pavel’s confidence is built up enough that he begins tentatively flirting back, first with Jim and then spreading out to other ensigns. Nyota gets in on the game shortly thereafter, to Jim’s amusement, and Sulu spends most of his shifts absolutely seething in frigid silence.

It doesn’t take as long as Jim is half-expecting. He did see fit to give Pavel a toned down version of the sex tips lecture he gave Spock, and he got the kid to confess that his “special someone” is a person he works closely with, which is good enough for Jim. One day they fly onto the bridge together, nearly late and holding hands, and Jim carefully keeps his face impassive and his amusement buried deep as Sulu gingerly sits, squirming a little when his ass connects with his chair, although he does relent enough to flash Pavel a thumbs up when the kid sneaks a triumphant, giddy grin back at him mid-shift.

Scotty’s got a project going on in Engineering, so he excuses himself from the bridge when there’s about a third of his shift left to go check it out. To his mild horror, Sulu takes a page from Uhura’s book and snatches his break just in time to duck into the lift with Jim. But the other man needs to build up his nerve, and that doesn’t happen until Jim’s stepping out of the lift, ready to make his escape when Sulu’s hand shoots out to block the lift doors. He flushes as Jim arches a brow, but he holds his ground.

“Captain,” he begins awkwardly. “Pavel and I, we’re…” he trails off miserably, clearly wanting to stake a claim and unsure how to do it, because Jim’s made damn sure he hasn’t crossed any lines.

He’s tempted to let Sulu squirm, but the man’s a fine pilot, a good colleague, and might become a good friend too if he’s lucky, so he puts a blank look on his face and lets it turn to surprise.

“Oh, so you’re the lucky man Chekov wanted to learn to flirt for!” he says with a wide grin, and nearly ruins it by snickering as Sulu’s face goes utterly shocked and a little happy. “I’d wondered.”

“He asked you to teach him to flirt, sir?” Sulu’s looking relieved and about as giddy as Pavel did, and Jim keeps grinning.

“Yep. Hence the flirting.” He sobers up a bit, pins Sulu with a stern look. Chekov’s eighteen now, nearly nineteen, but he’s still just a kid and Jim likes him. “Don’t break his heart, Lieutenant.”

“No, sir! And sir?” Sulu gives him a deliriously happy smile, but his eyes are painfully earnest. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.”

Jim snorts. “Don’t mention it. I mean that.”

Sulu vanishes back into the lift, presumably to head back up to the bridge and make puppy eyes at his new lover, and Jim shakes his head on a quiet laugh. Ah, well, that went better than he’d hoped. He turns and freezes at the sight of Bones propped against the bulkhead behind him, dark brow cocked and arms folded across his chest.

“Bones!” he bleats, heart suddenly pounding for reasons he absolutely does not want to think about.

“Jim,” Bones says mildly enough, but his eyes are sharp and speculative. “My office, after shift. Don’t make me hunt you down, kid.” He shoves off from the wall, a faint smile playing over his lips that turns Jim’s knees to jelly, and saunters off down the corridor.

It doesn’t take long to drool happily over Scotty’s latest improvements to the engines, which he swears will triple efficiency, and Jim takes a copy of the calculations back to his quarters. He and Scotty have an agreement; he double-checks Scotty’s calculations and then Spock double-checks Jim’s, and the risk of blowing the _Enterprise_ up becomes acceptable. He changes his grease-stained uniform into a clean one before heading down to Sickbay.

Bones is handling Yeoman Rand, but he catches Jim’s eye and nods to his office, so Jim wanders in. His gaze lingers on Bones through the anonymity provided by the one-way glass that makes up the windows to the CMO’s office. Deft hands cradle Rand’s wrist and manipulate it gently, sharp hazel eyes missing nothing as she gasps and pales. Jim’s gaze is caught by his hands, and suddenly he wonders what those strong, knowing hands would feel like gliding across his skin, stroking his cock, sliding into him—he cuts himself off with a soft curse as he goes rock hard at the mental images, grateful that Bones is still occupied. But the man’s office is too dull to hold his attention, so his gaze skates desperately across Sickbay to find something, _anything,_ that isn’t Leonard McCoy, and he stops as he sees Christine Chapel lingering, her eyes locked on Janice Rand’s pale face. He notes with interest that she’s offering the hypo and then the osteosetter before Bones even asks, and he also notes that Rand is looking back through her lashes.

Huh. Looks like he found his latest project. Cool.

Bones wraps it up and turns Rand over to Chapel, then heads into his office. “Sorry bout that,” he says, dropping into his chair and digging out a bottle of Scotty’s latest from the illegal still stashed in one of the unused storage rooms.

“Is she okay?” Jim checks, and Bones nods.

“Snapped her wrist cleanly. She’ll take it easy for a couple of days and be fine. I’ll get the orders to you tomorrow.”

Jim lets it go; if Bones says she’ll be fine, she will. Instead he accepts his shot of moonshine and eyes his best friend cautiously. But he bides his time until Bones has started on his own drink before he asks the question.

“So what’s up?”

Leonard sits back in his chair and eyes Jim (not the Captain, not right now) thoughtfully. Something’s changed in the kid. A year ago he would’ve teased Sulu unmercifully. Before that he would’ve helped Chekov, but he might’ve embarrassed him first. A few months ago he might not have warned Sulu about hurting Chekov on the grounds that it wasn’t his business and they were bound to break up anyway.

The Narada disaster aged Jim too fast, too hard, but this is the first real sign Leonard has seen that his friend has accepted it and is settling down. He’s not the only one; Uhura is openly complimentary and she’s noted repeatedly that Jim is far more thoughtful than he was before, a statement Jim himself is proving to be accurate. He’s more mature too, as shown by how well he handled a potentially incendiary moment with Sulu today with tact and delicacy.

Maybe it’s time to make his move.

Leonard isn’t a stupid man and it didn’t take a genius to realize that Jim was one seriously fucked up kid when they met. Luckily he was also old enough to realize that Jim was still sowing his oats, that he’d settle down when he was ready, and he saw the hints of the man Jim would become even in that brash, arrogant kid.

He figures he’s been in love with Jim pretty much from the day he threatened to puke on the only other person in civvies on the whole damn shuttle and the kid didn’t bat an eye, just spent the trip doing his considerable best to keep Leonard distracted enough to handle the flight. But there was no way in hell Jim was ready to settle down, so he became Jim’s best friend (first friend, he wonders?) and suffered through each new conquest, patched the kid up after each fight and later each new exotic allergy.

He’ll ponder this later; right now he wants to root out whatever’s making Jim so quiet, so tired and almost resigned. Something’s bugging the kid, and it’s his job to fix it if he can.

“I think that’s my line,” he answers Jim’s jibe seriously, and sees the kid’s eyes flicker in response. “What’s wrong? And don’t say nothing, dammit, because something is.”

There are days having your CMO as your best friend is an absolute pain in the fucking ass, Jim reflects unhappily. “Long day,” he dismisses lightly. “Long few weeks.”

Bones eyes him. He didn’t go on shore leave and he’s been scrupulous about not sleeping with any of the crew, contrary to most expectations. He doesn’t want to hear the details, doesn’t want yet another mental image of someone else claiming Jim, but Jim is a young healthy male in the prime of his life, and there are biological needs it’s Leonard’s duty to consider if he’s to keep his Captain at his peak.

“You didn’t go on the last shore leave,” he remarks, pouring himself a double and slinging it back to summon up the strength for the next words. “When’s the last time you got laid?”

Jim chokes on his shot. “Jesus, Bones!” he protests indignantly once he’s caught his breath. “It’s none of your goddamn business!”

Bones hesitates, because the veiled misery just sprang to life in Jim’s eyes. “Jim,” he starts, and Jim shakes his head.

“No. Just—let it go, Leonard. Please.” He uses Leonard only when it’s deadly serious, and it makes the brunette swallow the questions crowding his tongue. He knows Jim; pushing isn’t going to get him anywhere and it might serve to drive his friend away, a risk he refuses to take. “Look, I’m beat, Bones. Thanks for the drink.”

He could stop him, but he can’t justify it despite the worry steadily building, so he nods and smiles, and watches Jim leave quietly.   He finishes off what’s left of his drink and lets out a frustrated breath. “Well, that went well,” he grumbles.

Jim heads straight for his quarters and locks himself in so only Bones can override it, and only by using his CMO codes at that. He heads straight for his bunk, stripping off his uniform and dropping it as he goes. A dollop of lube in his palm and he fists his cock slowly, shutting his eyes and summoning up images of his latest conquest, a petite, busty woman with red hair and pale green eyes. His hand speeds up as he remembers sinking into tight, wet heat, remembers the weight of her breasts in his hands as she rode him, remembers the taste of her soft skin. He thinks of how her cunt squeezed him as she came for the first time, hand moving faster, squeezing on his shaft in turn. He’s almost there, his balls tightening and drawing up, but he can’t quite come—and then her pale skin darkens a bit, her hair shortening and turning dark brown, eyes changing to dark hazel and red lips turning full and lush, and he comes to Bones’ face with a strangled cry, climaxing harder than he has in ages of beating off.

He opens his eyes and stares numbly at his ceiling, his hand and chest covered with cooling seed, and sums it all up in one deeply felt word.

“Fuck.”

*****

Once he’s jacked off to Bones it’s over and he’s smart enough to know it. The walls of his denial come thundering down and he’s left reeling in the wake of discovering Bones is it for him and always has been.

(He always knew he’d love like his mother, always and forever no matter the price he’d pay. It’s one of the reasons he kept himself stubbornly blinded to what was right in front of his face.)

Now he can’t stop thinking about Bones. He imagines surgeon’s hands finding every sensitive spot on his body, imagines Bones’ thick cock filling his mouth, dreams of Bones pinning him down and riding him fast and hard and so deep it feels like he’s coming out of Jim’s throat. He wakes to messy sheets most mornings, and semen drying on his chest and hands, and it’d be embarrassing if his brain wasn’t being eaten alive by these damned images.

In revenge, he flings himself into matching up Rand and Chapel. (And if it means spending more time in Sickbay, well, that’s just a bonus. It has nothing to do with watching Bones furtively, or how hard he comes with each new detail he squirrels away to add to his fantasies.)

The women are actually easier than the guys were; once he coaxes Janice into opening up, he figures it’s just a matter of time. Still, he plays it safe by letting Christine use him as a sounding board, on the understanding that she won’t breathe a word of this to Bones because to Jim’s surprise, matchmaking is fun and he doesn’t want Bones to tease him unmercifully over it. To his surprise, Bones doesn’t push to find out why he’s spending half his time in Sickbay now. But he knows something’s up, because he brushes right by Jim, making sure Jim’s very much aware of his presence. And in retribution for Jim spending so much time in Sickbay, Bones is suddenly much more present on the bridge during Jim’s shifts, leaning over the back of his chair, laying an absent hand on Jim’s shoulder, ruffling blonde hair teasingly every now and then. To Jim’s disgust, the crew eats it up, obviously vastly entertained by the CMO’s teasing of the Captain.

It comes to a head one day in Sickbay. Bones has been called out to attend…something—Jim thinks Christine might’ve manufactured the emergency just so they’d have the Sickbay to themselves—and they’re taking advantage of the privacy to talk openly. To Jim’s mild bemusement, once he got the ball rolling both women seemed delighted at the prospect of dating, and right now Christine’s trying to plan the perfect first date since Janice agreed to go out with her. Jim doubts he’s actually much help—his only actual dates were all in high school when he was a young and naïve fifteen—but at least he can let her ramble and occasionally offer up something in return.   Bones returns with perfect timing, just as Christine’s talked herself out, and he turns to eye his grumpy CMO as hazel eyes dart from him to Christine and back again before a brow arches. 

Bones heads into his office without a word, though, so Jim turns back to Christine with a warm smile. “Have fun,” he offers sincerely, and she beams back.

“We will. Thank you so much, Jim!”

She sweeps into one of the supply rooms with the med kit Bones left by the door, presumably to restock it, and he’s just giving serious thought to heading back up to the bridge to finish off the last twenty minutes of his shift when a firm hand closes about his neck and he automatically freezes.

“What’re you up to?” Bones asks from behind him, breath warm against Jim’s neck, and the answer spills out before he can censor it.

“Christine’s going on a date with Janice Rand and she was nervous. I was the sounding board.”

Bones humphs softly, hand squeezing lightly. “Christ, you’re tense,” he mutters disapprovingly, and Jim finds himself towed along to the biobed Bones not-so-jokingly declared his after the sixth away mission that ended with him half-dead. He doesn’t bother arguing when Bones shoves him gently onto it, just turns his head to watch his beloved frown at the monitors. “Headache?” Bones asks, and Jim grunts an affirmative; he’s had one on and off for a couple days now. “I bet. Take your shirts off.”

It’s so unexpected it takes a moment to sink in, and then Jim shoots up. “What?” he blurts, half-convinced he imagined it.

“Take your shirts off,” Bones repeats levelly, rummaging through a drawer and returning with a bottle of something. “I’ll make it an order if you want, Jim.”

He strips his shirts off silently, too bewildered to even quip and wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to hide the arousal that’s sure to hit if Bones is touching bare skin. Particularly if he’s laying on a goddamn biobed that’ll spell it out for the good doctor.

He lays back down at Bones’ command and jumps as cool liquid hits his skin.

“Shh.” Bones’ voice is low and quiet, a soothing rumble. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Just relax for me.” Strong hands begin to rub his back, oil slicking the way as Bones kneads his tense muscles. He relaxes slowly, arousal a steady thrum and cock half-hard, but the relief of the worst of his tension easing is too great for it to get worse than that, not with Bones working out knots he hadn’t even known he had. “Tension headaches,” Bones diagnoses quietly. “Caused by not enough food or sleep, and too damn much stress. This is why you’re supposed to come to me before it gets this bad, kid.”

The headache is fading too, and it’s more of a relief than he’d expected; he didn’t realize how bad it was because he’d gotten too used to it. He groans in relief, already half-dozing because he’s comfortable and not in pain for the first time in days.

(Leonard’s eyes flick to the monitors, lingering on the readouts telling him that the younger man is aroused, and a slow, lazy smile curves his lips that would give Jim pause if the kid wasn’t nearly asleep already.)

Jim is nearly asleep by the time the slow massage finally stops and a sheet is dragged up over him. “Sleep,” Bones murmurs, and the last thing he thinks he feels is a soft kiss planted on one bare shoulder before the quiet hum of the privacy screens activate and lulls him all the way into slumber.

(But that’s impossible—isn’t it?)

****

He sleeps for a full eight hours and wakes refreshed, something he hasn’t done since before the Narada attacked. To his relief, nobody makes a big deal out of it. Bones wanders in to haul him off for breakfast before he clears him for duty, and they spend an enjoyable hour simply talking about anything and (almost) everything. 

(Jim wonders why Bones ordered him up his favorites, half of which are usually tutted at or outright restricted, but he doesn’t ask questions, just wolfs it down before Bones comes to his senses again.)

He heads to his quarters for a clean uniform and finds Janice actually singing as she tidies up his room for him; she turns when he enters, and kisses him heartily on the lips before she slips out, leaving him gaping after her. Obviously, the date went well.

The bridge is a cheerful place now and efficiency is definitely higher, to Jim’s mild bemusement. Bones shows up to drag him to lunch, where he’s again plied with some of his favorite foods, and then follows him up to the bridge. He rubs Jim’s shoulder absently as they both stare at a glorious supernova that’s the subject of the latest scientific mission, and he doesn’t leave (or stop touching Jim in some way) until he’s called down to Sickbay for a Lieutenant with a shattered pelvis from a rec program gone wrong.

Jim manages to last all of ten minutes until Spock takes pity on him and offers a data PADD with the final draft of Scotty’s latest experiment. Jim doesn’t hesitate, just takes it and flees to the relative sanctuary of Engineering where Scotty greets him cheerfully, examines the corrections, and drags him into the makeshift distillery to taste the latest concoction.

(He doesn’t ask questions, just hands Jim a cup with a grin, and takes a hefty swig of his own. Jim’s off tomorrow, so he grins back and downs the entire thing before he comes up gasping for air and laughing at the burn of it down his throat.)

Sometime during the second cup, when things go pleasantly blurry, it occurs to Jim that Scotty is the ultimate end to his matchmaking journey.  The man’s crazy in love with _Enterprise_ , which, really, Jim so totally gets, but the poor guy needs to get laid by an actual person even more than Jim does.

Besides, it’s the ultimate challenge.

Scotty keeps solemnly passing over cups of the brew and Jim thanks him, even though he stumbles over his tongue doing it. It’d be rude not to keep drinking, so he dutifully downs it all as the world goes increasingly blurry and washed out. He still thinks of Bones (hell, he always thinks of Bones, now) but it’s easier when he can’t really think at all.

“Dammit, Jim!” The voice is pissed as hell and very familiar, and he leans back to give Bones a delighted smile.

“Hey, Booones!”  He waves his half-full cup. “Scotty, look, it’s Booones!”

“Aye, laddie.” Scotty’s more sober, and he winces at the glare the doctor pins him under, one promising a great number of excruciatingly uncomfortable physicals in the near future.

“I’m a doctor, dammit, not a babysitter.” But Leonard sighs as he looks down at his drunken friend. “C’mon, Jim, let’s get you to bed,” he murmurs, crouching to pull Jim up, grateful that Jim’s got enough control left to assist him. He steers the Captain out of Engineering and down the blessedly quiet corridors until they reach Jim’s quarters. He strips Jim with brisk efficiency (and if his hands slow a bit and his eyes linger on each bit of golden skin exposed, well, who’s to know?) and topples him gently onto his bed. It’s a violation of trust, but he sits down next to the other man and strokes soft blonde hair from his forehead.

“Jim,” he murmurs, and hazy eyes peer up at him before Jim gives him a bleary grin. “What’s wrong?”

Jim’s face saddens, but as Leonard has gambled, he’s too drunk to hold his tongue and not quite drunk enough to make no sense. “Tired,” he confesses. “Lonely.”

“Is that why you’re matchmaking up the command crew?” Bones asks with a touch of asperity. Jim beams up at him and nods cheerfully. He sighs. “And why aren’t you matchmaking yourself while you’re at it?”

“N’body wants me,” Jim informs him mournfully, eyes drifting shut. “Sides, regs don’t ‘llow it.”

Leonard frowns, still carding through dark blonde hair as he thinks it through. Unfortunately Jim’s persistent insecurities do explain why he hasn’t noticed that Leonard’s courting him. (He’s the only one that hasn’t; the command crew is placing bets on when Dr. McCoy will lose his patience and drag the Captain into bed with him.) That can be dealt with, and right now it might even be working in Bones’ favor, because he’s not entirely sure how Jim will react if he has time to think himself into a panic over a serious relationship. Regulations, however, are another problem altogether, and not one Bones can work around, not if it means costing Jim _Enterprise_. 

Well, at least he knows what’s eating at Jim, and he’s got enough to start concocting a solid game plan. Jim’s blindness to his own attractiveness is working in Bones’ favor on the panicking front, so that’s a big plus. And he’ll throw himself on Spock’s mercy when it comes to the regs—nobody knows them better than the half-Vulcan, and the man’s a goddamn genius at finding loopholes. (Not to mention highly motivated—if Jim’s not supposed to fraternize amongst the crew, it’s a sure bet the first officer isn’t supposed to be either.)

Shaking his head, he loads a hypo with his own hangover cure and injects Jim, then adds a mix of vitamins while Jim can’t argue and finishes up with a mild tranq to keep his lover sleeping the entire night. Then he leaves to hunt down Spock.

****

Jim wakes without the expected hangover and blinks up at the ceiling of his quarters for a minute before the blurry memories sort themselves into place. Crap, Bones came looking for him and found him dead drunk with Scotty. But he apparently saw fit to give Jim a hangover cure before leaving, so he can’t be too pissed. He ducks under the sonics before wandering back out into his quarters. It’s his free day, so he’s going to put it to good use—he’s got to think of someone who’ll put up with Scotty.

It’s tougher than it looks. Everybody else had paired themselves off and all that was left was a quick shove to get them all moving. Scotty, though, he’s going to have to do from scratch.

It takes him hours to figure out who won’t be threatened or offended by the fact that Scotty’s first and foremost in love with _Enterprise_. He nearly gives up, but it finally dawns on him: Gaila. She’s an engineer, she adores _Enterprise_ , albeit without Scotty’s fanatical devotion, and best of all, she’s not one to settle down any more than Scotty is, but she does like a fairly regular fuck buddy. Win-win. And best of all, all he’s got to do is convince Gaila it’s a good idea and she’ll take it from there.

It turns out to be the simplest of the matches he’s made yet; all he has to do is show up at her quarters, ask if she’s considered Scotty as a lover, and get out of the way after she gives it a moment’s thought.

Bones, meanwhile, is drafting Spock’s assistance. Somewhat to his surprise, they’re both remarkably eager to help, even if Spock flushes a little when he comments on it, and Nyota gets a smug smile on her face. 

“Jim said something about regulations,” Leonard says, and Spock nods thoughtfully. Damn hobgoblin probably has all the fucking rules and regs memorized. 

“Regulation 690.12(b),” he supplies. “It forbids fraternization between a superior officer and his subordinate.”

Which leaves Jim shit out of luck, and Spock not much better. (But he’s waited too damn long for this, he’s not giving Jim up without a fight.) Spock continues.

“However, there is a clause, Sub-clause 690.12(b)(a)(1) which specifically governs fraternization amongst the command crew.”

Bones nearly snarls when he stops there, apparently thinking that’s enough. “And?” he prods irritably.

“It’s an out,” Nyota supplies hastily, clearly more in awe of the CMO’s power than her mate is. “Basically, it says that the command crew can be with whoever they please, as long as that person is a member of the command crew itself and it’s completely consensual. There’s a few more clauses governing abuse of authority if I remember correctly, but that’s it.”

“That is accurate,” Spock confirms.

(And isn’t it typical of Jim to tie himself into knots over a problem that doesn’t exist? He’s going to fuck the kid senseless, and then he’s going to ream him out for putting them both through this agony. And then he’s going to propose and he won’t let either of them out until Jim says yes.)

“So Jim and I can be together and the brass can’t touch either of us,” he double-checks, and Spock actually cracks a rare smile.

“In fact, you are the best possible candidate for a relationship with the captain,” he says, and Nyota smiles.

“Spock’s right. You’ve got authority over Captain Kirk as the CMO, and you’ve already proven you’ll use it if you must,” she agrees. “As long as nobody can claim your relationship interferes with your ability to treat the Captain, you’re in the clear.”

(Jim’s his, and he doesn’t trust anyone else with the brat, never has and never will. That part, at least, is not a problem. Better to have his lover on his table, under his hands rather than trusting someone else to do as good a job when he knows he can do better.)

“That’s settled, then,” he says with quiet satisfaction. “Thank you, Spock, Nyota.”

He heads straight back to Jim’s quarters, pausing only briefly to watch in mild amusement as Gaila waves at him before dragging a thoroughly dazed and rumpled Scotty into her quarters. (Jim strikes again.) He gets to the Captain’s quarters in time to see Jim step out, then turn to face him.

“Bones,” he begins, and Leonard strikes.

Jim blinks as Leonard crowds him up against the door, grabs his face between both hands, and kisses him fiercely enough to steal his breath away.

“You’re mine,” Bones growls, backing him up until the door slides open. “You’ve always been mine, you just didn’t know it.”

(He’s not going to argue because, well, Bones is right, but he’s half tempted anyway. He’s James Tiberius Kirk, and he’s not used to getting what he wants, what he craves, what he needs even more than his beloved _Enterprise_.)

He tumbles onto the bed, dazed and breathless and hungry as Bones comes down on top of him, long lean body pinning him down with a contained strength that turns him on even more. Bones yanks his shirts off with more speed than grace, rips open his trousers and hauls them off along with his boots as he blinks, still somewhat dazed by how fast this is going and how turned on he is by all of it. While he watches, Bones strips himself even more quickly and now it’s even better because it’s skin to skin, and Bones is gloriously hard as his cock presses into Jim’s belly when he claims another fierce, dazzling kiss.

“Over,” he orders in that soft, Southern drawl that never fails to turn Jim’s bones to water, and he obediently rolls over, Bones helping him move until he’s on his stomach. A pillow is stuffed under his hips, elevating his ass and he stills as Bones strokes it with a murmur of approval.

“Um, Bones?”

“What?”

“I’ve, ah, never done this part before.”

(Never wanted to, never saw the point, never found anyone worth giving that kind of power over him because he wanted it so badly he could _taste_ it before, yet he couldn’t cheapen the act by letting some random stranger fuck him. Besides, they’d only boast about it later, and where was the point in that? If all they wanted was a good fuck and a boast later that they’d had James Kirk, well, he’d fuck them, not the other way around. And right now he’s so glad he waited, even if he does feel a little stupid just blurting it out like that.)

Then Bones snarls, a low, possessive sound that makes Jim shiver in anticipation.  _“Mine.”_

He’s not going to argue that one, even if he still doesn’t get what Bones sees in him. “Yours,” he agrees promptly.

He hears the pop of the lube being opened, and then a cool, slick finger breaches him with no warning. He freezes again, eyes going wide as he gasps into his pillow, body clenching around the intruder. It doesn’t hurt, exactly—it’s more of a hint of a burn, and he can definitely feel Bones’ finger as he rubs Jim’s insides, easing the tight muscles.

“Relax,” Bones instructs and now there’s two fingers and the burn is faint but present, offset by how sensitive his ass is the more Bones plays with it. He pants now as Bones gives him a second before he moves those two long fingers buried deep inside him, opening him wider gently but implacably.

“One more,” Bones tells him and now there’s three and it really does burn. He squirms, yelping a little, but Bones twists his wrist, fingers dancing inside Jim’s ass, and the yelp turns to a short, startled cry as he hits something deep inside. Bones laughs softly, biting lightly on his shoulder as he shoves back onto those agile surgeon’s fingers which rub steadily over his prostate, sending stars streaking through his vision as his blood heats with the sheer pleasure of it. Oh, fuck, he’s going to _come_ —and Bones clamps down on the base of his cock as he cries out in mingled relief and frustration, orgasm halted in its tracks.

“Please,” he gasps because he needs _more_ , dammit. His ass is almost itching deep inside, an aching heat that needs to be filled, and he needs Bones’ cock and says as much.

Strong hands lock on his hips, holding him still and he quiets at the feeling of a warm, blunt pressure at his entrance. Then Bones is pushing inside, slowly and steadily, and Jim screams into his pillow at the combination of burning stretchy pain and the sheer pleasure of being filled at last. Leonard doesn’t relent, doesn’t speed up or slow down, just keeps that steady slide in until he’s pressed against Jim’s ass. It hurts, oh God it _hurts_ , but it feels good too, better than anything he’s felt before. Bones is inside him, claiming him, possessing him. He doesn’t move for long moments, until the burning fades, although he’s stuffed so full of hard, throbbing cock that he can barely breathe, taken and impaled and God, it feels right. Jim shifts tentatively, and Bones takes it as an invitation. He pulls back and Jim’s breath hitches at the drag and pull of that long cock leaving, then he stops breathing entirely for a moment as Bones slides back in with long, slow, hard thrusts. He sets up a steady, ruthless rhythm and Jim whimpers as that thick cock fills him over and over again. Leonard pulls back, shifts slightly and shoves back in, and Jim shrieks as the spongy head slams into his prostate. He rocks back and forth as best he can beneath Bones’ controlling weight, each thrust hitting his prostate and sending pleasure shooting through him.

“Harder,” he begs shamelessly. “Harder, Bones, _please—”_

Leonard obliges, riding him harder, shoving him up the bed with each thrust in, pulling him back down as he withdraws. Each rub against his prostate make the heat build higher and tighter, makes him make desperate mewling cries into the mattress and shove back harder himself onto Bones’ cock until he comes, his own cock rubbing against the sheets as Leonard thrusts hard and deep into the clenching hole, drawing Jim’s climax out until it’s too much. Just when he can’t take anymore, when the pleasure’s so intense it’s bordering on pain, Leonard’s hands tighten on his hips and he rams himself deep, tensing in climax, spilling his seed in a series of tight prods that rock Jim up the mattress, as deep as Bones can go inside him, tight and hard, and Jim groans as he feels wet heat spill inside him, filling him until it dribbles out his hole. He sags into the mattress, limp and boneless as Leonard covers him, panting onto his sweat-dampened skin, mouthing the bruises he bit into Jim’s neck.

“Mine,” he repeats softly, triumphantly.

“Yours,” Jim agrees, claimed and possessed and taken, now and forever. Bones shifts and pulls out, cuddling Jim against him as the young man hisses his discomfort. Later, he knows, Bones will clean him up enough to function, although he hopes he can talk the man into leaving the bruises on his neck, a visible sign to everyone that he’s taken. For now, he’s worn out from the best sex of his life, wrapped in his lover’s embrace, and he just wants to sleep.

He’s always been Bones’. He’s just apparently the last one to know it. And he’s smiling as he tumbles into sleep, because this is only the beginning of the rest of his life.

(Not alone, never alone again. He’s Bones and Bones is his, and James Kirk doesn’t let go of what’s his, not now and not ever.)

He and Bones. God, this is gonna be fun.


End file.
